The Lucky One(63)

“He missed us,” she said, bending lower. “Didn’t you, big boy?” As she bent lower, Zeus licked her face. Straightening up, she wrinkled her nose before wiping her face. “That was gross.”

“Not for him,” Thibault said. He motioned toward the house. “You ready? I have to warn you not to expect too much.”

“Do you have a beer in the fridge?”

“Yes.”

“Then don’t worry about it.”

They made their way up the steps of the house. Thibault opened the door and flipped the switch: A single floor lamp cast a dim glow over an easy chair near the window. In the center of the room stood a coffee table decorated only with a pair of candles; a medium-size couch faced it. Both the couch and the easy chair were covered in matching navy blue slipcovers, and behind them, a bookshelf housed a small collection of books. An empty magazine rack along with another floor lamp completed the minimalist furnishings.

Still, it was clean. Thibault had made sure of that earlier in the day. The pine floors had been mopped, the windows washed, the room dusted. He disliked clutter and despised dirt. The endless dust in Iraq had only reinforced his neatnik tendencies.

Elizabeth took in the scene before walking into the living room.

“I like it,” she said. “Where did you get the furniture?”

“It came with the place,” he said.

“Which explains the slipcovers.”

“Exactly.”

“No television?”

“No.”

“No radio?”

“No.”

“What do you do when you’re here?”

“Sleep.”

“And?”

“Read.”

“Novels?”

“No,” he said, then changed his mind. “Actually, a couple. But mostly biographies and histories.”

“No anthropology texts?”

“I have a book by Richard Leakey,” he said. “But I don’t like a lot of the heavy postmodernist anthropology books that seem to dominate the field these days, and in any case those kinds of books aren’t easy to come by in Hampton.”

She circled the furniture, running her finger along the slipcovers. “What did he write about?”

“Who? Leakey?”

She smiled. “Yeah. Leakey.”

He pursed his lips, organizing his thoughts. “Traditional anthropology is primarily interested in five areas: when man first began to evolve, when he started to walk upright, why there were so many hominid species, why and how those species evolved, and what all of that means for the evolutionary history of modern man. Leakey’s book mainly talked about the last four, with a special emphasis on how toolmaking and weapons influenced the evolution of Homo sapiens.”

She couldn’t hide her amusement, but he could tell she was impressed.

“How about that beer?” she asked.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” he said. “Make yourself comfortable.”

He returned with two bottles and a box of matches. Elizabeth was seated in the middle of the couch; he handed her one of the bottles and took a seat beside her, dropping the matches on the table.

She immediately picked up the matches and struck one, watching as the small flame flickered to life. In a fluid motion, she held it to the wicks, lighting both candles, then extinguished the match.

“I hope you don’t mind. I love the smell of candles.”

“Not at all.”

He rose from the couch to turn off the lamp, the room now dimly lit by the warm glow of the candles. He sat closer to her when he returned to the couch, watching as she stared at the flame, her face half in shadow. He took a sip of his beer, wondering what she was thinking.

“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been alone in a candlelit room with a man?” she said, turning her face to his.

“No,” he said.

“It’s a trick question. The answer is never.” She seemed amazed by the idea herself. “Isn’t that odd? I’ve been married, I have a child, I’ve dated, and never once has this happened before.” She hesitated. “And if you want to know the truth, this is the first time I’ve been alone with a man at his place since my divorce.” Her expression was almost sheepish.

“Tell me something,” she said, her face inches from his. “Would you have asked me inside if I hadn’t invited myself?” she asked. “Answer honestly. I’ll know if you’re lying.”

He rotated the bottle in his hands. “I’m not sure.”

“Why not?” she pressed. “What is it about me—”

“It has nothing to do with you,” he interrupted. “It has more to do with Nana and what she might think.”

“Because she’s your boss?”

“Because she’s your grandmother. Because I respect her. But mostly, because I respect you. I had a wonderful time tonight. In the past five years, I can’t think of a better time I’ve had with anybody.”

“And you still wouldn’t have invited me in.” Elizabeth seemed baffled.

“I didn’t say that. I said I’m not sure.”

“Which means no.”

“Which means I was trying to figure out a way of asking you in without offending you, but you beat me to the punch. But if what you’re really asking is whether I wanted to invite you in, the answer is, yes, I did.”